The very moment my thoughts begin to grapple
With the idea of you,
I am plunged into a forbidding ocean,
Torpedoing through its placid blue.
A consuming void of cobalt hue - and I know
Nothing will appease this abyssal chasm.
Plummeting, free-falling, rudderless, I am pulled under,
Undulating through this cruel baptism.

Even still, thoughts churn, escaping my mind
In an effervescent sprint to the surface.
If I could just soar, to pursue them,
To confront them, to lay bare their purpose.
In vain, I strain to scan each percolating contemplation for a clue,
Some kind of clue.
And as they rise, I descend - slowly, fluidly, resignedly -
Unable to mount a credible coup.

Give me some kind of clue - something, anything -
Just enough to assemble an idea of you,
Something more than being immersed again and again,
Pitched vindictively into the depths of this yawning blue,
Where to rail against this unfathomable breach
Is to spiral deeper and deeper as it grows vaster and vaster. 
So I grapple - with it, with you, with the infinite nothingness
Of this beautiful, surreal, ambient, disaster.